Shucking peas

Dear Gram,

I miss you such a grist.  I saw a picture of an old woman in a plaid skirt, and it reminded me of that blackwatch plaid one that you had, pleated, and set on the diagonal.  And you used to wear it with a  sweater, and sometimes a scarf, and I remember how it felt on my face when I'd rest my head on your knee and you'd run your fingers through my hair for HOURS.  I remember how your perfectly manicured nails with their white moons felt on my scalp, and the pinch when you'd work the tangles out with your fingertips.  That's the place I want to go to when everything here feels nuts.  I wish you were here, I miss the sound of your voice, and the stories I'd heard a thousand times.  I miss being in your kitchen, and I wish you could be in mine.  And I wonder if you are proud, if I'm doing it right, and what you would say.  What advice would you have?  What more could I learn?  Mostly, I want you to know, the way I know, what a force you are in my life.  How I still strive to live to the standards I set for myself by standing in the shadow of your grace, and your love, and your strength.  How you set an example in everything you did, but not in the way that makes one feel inadequate, but in the way that one feels like their own superhero for coming close.  I hope you saw the goodness in yourself, how your kindness made a forever impression on people's lives.  How from you I learned we are all one- we share feelings, and experiences, and if we can help, we should.  I'd give just almost anything to see you and Papa pull into my drive in a black Chrysler sedan.  Missing him, well, that's a whole thing of its own.  I taught Bre to shuck peas 2 days ago.  And I felt you there, on my porch, smiling at us as we worked, and I know you were there when I was cooking, making the peas and beans and new potatoes come out just right.  And I thank you, because I really needed supper in your kitchen that day.  I know they say you shouldn't look back, but if I don't, I don't seem to know where I'm going....